


only human after all

by Antonia_Simmons



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AI!Colchester, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, not rlly violence just Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 11:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12480708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antonia_Simmons/pseuds/Antonia_Simmons
Summary: For my dear friend ;)Disclaimer: I've written this before we got Colchester's actual first name!!





	only human after all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparksSeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparksSeer/gifts).



> For my dear friend ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I've written this before we got Colchester's actual first name!!

7287425

In a world where having a soulmate was about as common as, say, having brown eyes, unusual soulmarks were far from unheard of. Even more often, people never found their perfect match, simply because they were born on different sides of the planet, or were too far apart in age for the relationship to ever be considered decent - or even reasonably feasable.

By the time Colin Price turned eighteen, he'd long accepted that he'd never have a soulmate. For if he hadn't received his soulmark yet (as these only appear on the older one of the pair when the younger is born), he either never would, or the age gap would simply be too great. And he was even fine with that, or as fine as he could be. He'd long known he preferred boys over girls, and would be not be unhappy if his parents never, ever found out. (On the other hand, wasn't his soulmate supposed to be his perfect match, the one person who'd love him always and completely? Maybe he could've faced even his parents' inevitable wrath, if he had such a partner by his side. But such were futile thoughts, seeing as he'd never have a soulmate, now.)

Then, on the morning of an entirely unremarkable Monday, somewhen during his 19th year of life, he felt a sharp, almost searing pain on the inside of his left wrist. It was over as quickly as it'd arrived, but cold dread coiled in the pit of his stomach anyway, for he knew exactly what that meant.

He'd received a soulmark after all.

For a solid three minutes, he just sat as he was, not even moving one muscle; breakfast long forgotten. He genuinely considered just covering the mark with a tissue or a makeshift bandage, go straight to the next tattoo parlour and ask it to be erased, 'inked over' as they called it. That kind of procedure was rare, but usually accepted, even without payment in some places - for the amount of pain or grief someone needed to be in to make such a decision was not something anyone took lightly. The longer he thought about it, though, the less appealing the idea became. At first, he hadn't even wanted to look at the spot, but now he found himself barely able to resist. Almost instinctively, he clamped his right hand around it, as if that'd stop or even slow the problem somehow.

He didn't want to know the first name of some baby somewhere in the world, whom the universe had somehow deigned to be his perfect love - to be consummated in, what, another eighteen years? When he was 37. No Thank You. He didn't. He really didn't. He --

Couldn't lie to himself a second longer. He looked.

And instantly did a double take. Closed his eyes, opened them, tried again.

And again.

And again.

The inscription on his wrist didn't change.

 _7287425_ , it read, in simple, stark black block letters.

And somehow, that was the worst thing about it all. The font. Because one of the greatest mysteries about soulmarks - well, apart from the fact that they existed in the first place, like seriously how (who) decided who'd be the perfect match for whom??? - was the fact that the name they'd spell out was always, always the one given by the parent of guardian of your intended (no self-given names, name changes or other such things allowed (which made for less-than comfortable situations for transgender individuals, Colin knew from one of his friends)); and yet, they were spelled in the first kind of handwriting that person would ever produce. In complete spite of the fact that they were assigned at birth (of the younger one, anyway), before that person could even write. Which used to lead to the names being quite crooked or hard to read until laws were passed for stricter teaching methods in elementary schools worldwide.

Only, where in the world - literally - did _little kids_ learn to write like Arial Black????

Colin suspected dearly that there was more than a little something wrong with his soulmark - his soulmate, really - much more than them (ok, he had to face it at some point, why not along with the rest right now - _him_ ) being born to a pair of extremely strange people in the States or something, who gave their children weird-ass names for fun.

That day, after uni, Colin purchased a soulmark-bracelet - something most people who hadn't found their soulmate yet (or those who had and lost them) wore. If it got him weird looks the first few weeks, he ignored them. His friends were sensible enough not to mention it after one particularly nasty glare.

\-----

''Um, boss...? Boss, it appears we have a slight...''

''Don't say 'problem'. We don't have 'problems'. What is it?''

''One, well. Um.''

''Spit it out, man.''

''One subject, sir, it appears to have... a soulmark.''

''.... So? That's what all the fuss is about? Have it erased, say it had conservative parents or something. No big deal. Understood?''

''Yes sir.''

\-----

Years passed, and despite his best efforts, Colin just couldn't forget about his strange soulmark. He'd even gone to a Identification Center on one very desperate Friday night. But the strange number-name hadn't been registered anywhere yet, and so the expert there had, just like everyone else he'd eventually told (they weren't many, and his parents not among them), simply pat him on the back in sympathy, and told him to go out and try the 'normal' way of dating.

So, eventually, he did. He never took off his bracelet except to shower but ignored it otherwise, and whenever someone asked, he said 'it's not important' and distracted them quickly. It usually worked, and in the rare cases it didn't - well. It wasn't like he made a habit out of getting attached.

[And if he still cried himself to sleep sometimes, some desperate, lonely nights where he didn't even care if his soulmate was a goddamn basket case and/or he'd still have to wait a decade to be with them, when he just needed to know that there was someone out there, _anyone_ , someone who _understood_.... Well. No life was just sunshine and rainbows.]

Somewhen along the lines, though, he got... obsessed, with number. Just a little - his heart was still in literature, and would likely always be - but he did find himself solving small mathematical puzzles in his free time sometimes. Or sudokus. Oh, he loved doing sudokus...

\-----

Colin barely registered his 34. birthday, coming and going just like any other day. When his colleagues at the bookstore asked him if he wanted to go out for some cake (they'd long learned that he didn't go out for drinks), he declined as well. Said he doesn't like birthdays. They'd laughed, agreed that getting older was stupid and useless after turning 18, and let it be. What Colin didn't tell them was that he simply loathed the thought of growing old alone. And that he thought of his soulmate, soon to turn 15. If he ever looked at his wrist and dreamed of the 'Colin' he read there. And if he tried, and failed, not to cry, then he'd do that at his own place, by himself, alone. As he by now knew he'd always be.

Some months later, a customer at the store ran into a bookshelf. Well admittedly, Colin didn't actually know if he would've been a customer, since he left immediately after without buying anything, and also, it was less 'running' into it as 'slowly walking whilest gaping openly', but still. It was remarkable, because he was gaping at Colin specifically. Who was doing nothing more - or, he supposed, less - impressive than lifting a heavy box full of books. Yet, all in all, even though he knew he wasn't a bad-looking guy per se - he did work out - that type of reaction was rather rare, and oddly flattering. If only he'd managed to get the guy's name... but no chance, he bolted soon as Colin'd helped him up.

After a lot of shy skulking-around, and on quite heroic act on the guy's part (and some more shyness (/ waiting on Colin's part)), they finally got to talk, though. Colin learned that the guy's name was Patrick, and that he didn't much care for his soulmark himself. When asked about his own, though, somehow Colin found himself saying something other - something _more_ \- than (the entirely reasonable) 'same' or something similar. ''It's some kid in the States, and before you ask, no, I'm not at _all_ into that.'' Techincally, that was a lie - he had no idea where his soulmate lived - but it was a more honest answer than he'd ever given anyone. Something about Patrick made him feel... safe, and at rest with himself, somehow. He had a truly good feeling about this.

\-----

And, it turns out, that feeling was right. Three years into their relationship, Patrick had never once asked him to remove his bracelet, even though he'd shown him his own soulmark once, eventually. It was inked over. ''My parents'', he'd said by way of explanation, and Colin understood immediately. His parents would've likely done the same, had he been born with some boy's name written on him. He almost told Patrick as much, but decided against him in the last moment. He didn't want attention drawn to his own mark, irrational as that was considering the fact that Patrick had been nothing but perfectly gentlemanly and understanding about it. As was the most of Patrick, really. Always so kind, so... giving. He was truly perfect, and for the first time in his life, Colin felt like he might eventually be whole, even without his soulmate.

\-----

Fast-forward a decade and some years. March 29th came and went, and Colin hadn't thought of his soulmark in years. He was simply too happy to. It was official, he had no idea why people thought long-term relationships got worse / less exciting over the years except if they were with one's soulmate. They couldn't be more wrong, he and his husband (got, he loved the word to bits) were living proof of that. Said husband might be a little on the weird side, but he was the most genuinely affectionate person Colin'd ever known, and an actual hero. No, really. He might not wear a cape (he preferred cardigans), and he might not look as handsome as Clark Kent (though Colin would never tell him that, it didn't matter to him anyway), but he actually saved people. Not just little girls who crossed the street without looking - although there was some of that too - but whole cities. The world, on a good day. He was so incredible, and _important_ , and yet he never considered Colin beneath himself - praised and adored him every single day.

So what if he was oddly strong for his age and stature? That only came in handy, in lots of situations (and not just that, you perverts). What if he was much better at close combat, and more efficient about killing, than Colin was strictly comfortable with knowing about? It kept him alive during his day job, and Colin alive in general, so he certainly wasn't complaining. And if he preferred being called by his last name rather than his first, for some odd reason he appeared rather excessively self-conscious about? Well, then Colin would only call him by his last name. Big deal. He was much more upset that he'd apparently, somehow, given off the impression that it _would_ be a big deal - he could find no other explanation for the fact that it'd taken his lover nearly seven years to confess that to him, in hushed whispers and with desperately downcast eyes.

Yes, all in all, the world around them might slowly going to hell - or, these days, somewhat faster - but at least they were happy.

Then, the bots came.

\-----

To say that Colin had never before in his life been quite this terrified would be a huge understatement. Sure, the recent run-in with their murderous neighbors recently had seemed horrible at the time, but then again, so had his parents disowning him when he finally told them about his relationship with Colchester. The trick was in the perspective, he knew now.

What was _human_ rage against this onslaught of machines? Machines that might look human enough on the surface, but weren't at all so inside. 'Organic material grown on top of a mechanic core', Captain Harkness, had said by way of explanation, after they'd finally taken one down, several shots with several overly large weapons later.

Colin only knew that he'd never seen something quite so strange.

A completely normal looking human, only that inside of him, there was a sleek black structure, like a very rudimentary robot. No real features to speak of, except a letter and a string of numbers on what would pass for the shoulder of the 'body'. C-3322142, this one read.

The Captain hadn't let him inspect it long, which Colin supposed was sensible given the situation, and sent him to Torchwood's headquarters for his own safety. ''Or maybe rather for my own'', he'd joked, ''because I'm sure Mr. Colchester knows a few unpleasant ways to kill someone, and if any harm should come to you, I'll be at the receiving end of them all.''

Colin didn't get to ask how that was supposed to be logically possible, not that it mattered much since the overall statement was definitely true. His husband would never forgive himself if something happened to him, but he'd be even less forgiving on anyone who'd let it happen. Colchester... Once 'safe' down in the Hub, he found himself utterly unable to stop thinking about him. Well, even less able than usually. He'd heard somewhere that soulmates usually died within a year of each other, no matter if they'd found each other beforehand or not. Their bodies and minds alike just... gave up. Colin could sympathize with that sentiment wholeheartedly; he didn't know either how - if - he could go on when...

No. Nonono. Not thinking about that right now, no way. That'd only drive him insane. But Colin had always had a spectacularly bad track record at convincing himself of something if his heart wasn't in it, and so kept thinking. Kept remembering.

All the times he'd thought of all the differences between Colchester and himself, and marvelled at how tiny the chance of the two of them ending up together was statistically, and how they were here now anyway. All his husband's strange little quirks, and his loving - oh so loving - smile, the very special smile he had only for Colin.

The fact that he'd gone off to work so early this morning Colin hadn't even been able to tell him he loved him.

And, well, if he sat down at one of the battered-looking tables in this run-down wreck of an underground base, head in his hands, weeping terribly with fear for his beloved, no one was around to see.

\-----

Hours passed, turning into a day, two. Or at least, that's what Colin's watch told him. There was food in the fridge, a reasonably clean restroom, and well, it wasn't like sleeping on the floor once or twice was going to kill him. Not literally, anyway. And so he stayed, and he waited.

Until the blaring sounds of the intruder alert systems echoed through the huge cavern and nearly gave him a heart attack, being the only loud sound he'd heard in over 50 hours.

His first (coherent) thought was 'shit, they've found me, I'm going to die', but before he could even think where best to run to, he saw the two figures that had entered, and stopped cold.

One of them was bleeding so profousely and from so many grave-looking wounds they shouldn't logically be still alive, let alone walking; even if supported. And the other, the one supporting the first, looked to be... his counsin from London?? Yes, he was almost entirely positive on that - but what the hell would his cousin be doing here in Cardiff? And wait.. no. Something was off... Even if it was his mind playing tricks on him, it'd be peculiar, for he could've sworn that the second figure looked almost exactly like _him_. And he knew his cousin and he were extremely similar in appearance - they'd been mistaken for brothers often enough - but they weren't exactly twins. So what the actual hell....?

''Help anyone?! Colchester's been hurt!!'', he heard his own voice call, and that was all it took to shake him out of his reverie. That was his _husband_ who was bleeding so terribly?! Suddenly he couldn't care less if there was a whole bloody factory of clones of himself out there or whatever; Colchester needed him. And if his aimless drifting through the whole strange complex (or at least this level of it) had any beneficial side effects, it was that he knew exactly where to find the medical equipment.

''Over here!!'', he yelled as he ran for it. Thankfully, the stranger didn't ask questions and headed in the indicated direction. By the time Colin had got the bandages out, the pair had almost reached him. If he'd looked, Colin would've been puzzled by the fact that the stranger had very obviously decreased in height, and also somewhat in mass, but he wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the man clinging to him, and desperately trying to find even a single feature of his husband's.

Not an easy task, with almost the entire left of this body - even of his head - being either a gory, bloodied mess, or missing altogether. If it hadn't been for the sheer stench of it all - many bits were clearly burned - Colin would've believed this was a nightmare.

He prayed it was anyway.

Then, the man - Colchester, it was Colchester; wasn't it? - opened his remaining eye and looked up at him. And Colin nearly dropped where he stood.

'' _Allah almustaean!_ '', he breathed, his exclamation no more than a hollow whisper as his heart constricted to the point of pain. It really was his husband, alive - and yet, almost worse than dead.

''I'm so, so sorry, baby.. but I promise, it's just a- Ah! A flesh wound, we'll figure something out, we always do...'' That was about as much as he got out before he sagged again, panting with exertion (and, likely, pain), barely still conscious.

Colin was distantly aware that Colchester was talking, he heard his dark, rumbling voice loud and clear, but he couldn't tear his attention away from his face for long enough to comprehend what he was saying. How could there even be any words anymore, when this was happening?

''Come on, we have to _do_ something!'', he man beside him insisted, desperation clear in his - strangely different voice? When Colin turned to face him, he could only gape - he didn't look like him anymore, not at all; much more like... like.... ''Yes, I'm an alien shapeshifter, long story big deal! Bandages, now??''

Colin gulped and finally, finally came back to himself long enough to function, and the two of them worked mostly silently as the bandaged what they could - even though that wasn't a whole lot, since at many points there was more bone than flesh left.

Or wait. _Was_ that bone....? First, Colin'd thought it was, just darkened by all the blood - and the bad lighting of the place - but now, upon closer inspection...

Oh no. Oh no no no no no....

''Yes'', the shapeshifter at his side tonelessly replied, and Colin realized he'd probably said the whole last part out loud. ''He's a... one of them, too. But he fought the signal, the call to action. Somehow, he fought it and he won - he was able to help us against them, even. They just. Didn't take to the dissident well.''

On the outside, Colin was nodding along numbly to indicate that he was listening, but on the inside he mind was racing a hundred miles a second. So many things suddenly made sense... (not that he particularly wanted to think about all the things that didn't).

Especially when they got to bandaging his shoulder, things made a whole lot of sense all at once.

Colin'd honestly believed the day couldn't get any stranger, but he'd very obviously been proven wrong. Or has he? Wasn't this, of all things, the most natural thing about the whole situation? Of course evil overlords-in-spe didn't want their drones / sleeper agents to get too attached to anything or anyone.

Of course, who but an android would be named '7287425' and _write in Arial Black_.

\-----

Another day passed, and once he'd gotten over the fact that whatever secret of Colchester's Orr held, they weren't going to give it up without a fight, he was getting along with them smashingly. Their ability was simply incredible, even though Colin did feel just slightly guilty for sitting with and talking to a whole-looking version of Colchester while the real one lay on the autopsy table (the only bed-ish construct they'd been able to find), drugged up and unconscious.

Finally, the fight outside was over, and, thankfully, in their favor. Captain Harkness and the rest of the team came, then, and brought equipment and info they'd raided from on of the now-destroyed factories, promising they're find a way to 'restore' Colchester, whatever exactly that meant.

They'd better, Colin thought to himself as he absentmindedly rubbed his now-exposed left wrist, or he'd kill Harkness himself.

But, either way, he was never, ever wearing that bracelet again, and that thought made him smile despite it all.

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any details about their relationship / certain milestones of it here that you don't remember being mentioned in AAU, they probably refer to my hc for their first meeting(s), which can be found here:  
> https://ritztower-apt151.tumblr.com/post/166669236135/concept-in-a-world-where-theres-no-ng-no
> 
> That's also my (AAU) tumblr btw, so if you want, why don't you come chat with me about those two dorks there? ;)  
> Disclaimer: I'm very aware that Arial Black probably didn't exist 30-smth years ago, but while constructive criticism is very welcome, please do keep in mind that in the first draft, I had Colin use a smartphone way back in the day as well, so don't expect too much of me XD


End file.
